I
answered
him at once,
"Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age.
"Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age.
Stephen Crane
Whence come ye?
And--tell me--is it fair
Or is the truth bitter as eaten fire?
Tell me!
Fear not that I should quaver,
For I dare--I dare.
Then, tell me!
VIII
I looked here;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my love.
And--this time--
She was in my heart.
Truly, then, I have no complaint,
For though she be fair and fairer,
She is none so fair as she
In my heart.
IX
I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping,
And carousing in sin.
One looked up, grinning,
And said, "Comrade! Brother! "
X
Should the wide world roll away,
Leaving black terror,
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential,
If thou and thy white arms were there,
And the fall to doom a long way.
XI
In a lonely place,
I encountered a sage
Who sat, all still,
Regarding a newspaper.
He accosted me:
"Sir, what is this? "
Then I saw that I was greater,
Aye, greater than this sage.
I answered him at once,
"Old, old man, it is the wisdom of the age. "
The sage looked upon me with admiration.
XII
"and the sins of the fathers shall be
visited upon the heads of the children,
even unto the third and fourth
generation of them that hate me. "
Well, then, I hate thee, Unrighteous Picture;
Wicked Image, I hate thee;
So, strike with thy vengeance
The heads of those little men
Who come blindly.
It will be a brave thing.
XIII
If there is a witness to my little life,
To my tiny throes and struggles,
He sees a fool;
And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.
XIV
There was crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare;
Women wept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, "Why is this? "
Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamor of tongues,
That still the reason was not.
XV
"Tell brave deeds of war. "
Then they recounted tales,--
"There were stern stands
"And bitter runs for glory. "
Ah, I think there were braver deeds.
XVI
Chanty, thou art a lie,
A toy of women,
A pleasure of certain men.